The Chrono Trigger
by Locuster
Summary: A New York remix.
1. The Grave of Christopher O'Kelly

Disclaimer: Many of the characters, places, and events in this story are based on those in Chrono Trigger and Chrono Cross. They are the sole property of Square-Enix, and are being used without permission for this experiment in writing. Likenesses shared by any of the other characters, places, and events that are NOT outwardly historical or real are purely coincidental.

Chapter 1: The Grave of Christopher O'Kelly

My name is Father Paul Riley. And I hate funerals.

Perhaps hate is too strong a word. Let's just say they never got any easier. Ever. I was often told - that is, back at the seminary - by the time I reached the double digits, I'd be more steadfast than St. Agatha herself. Yet I still managed to choke up delivering a eulogy or leading the loved ones in prayers. Seeing the sadness frozen on their faces, hearing the sobs and wails from those who shall never experience the pleasant company or warm smiles of the deceased again, in this lifetime, was all it took to send me over the edge. I tried my best to avoid them, most successfully through small calendar revisions or trips to visit the family. Yes, life's little "adjustments" went a long way.

Though when Regina O'Kelly requested I lead Chris' funeral, I couldn't refuse. After watching Gina, as she was more affectionately known, cry her eyes dry in my humble Staten Island office, I only wished I could do more. The plump, Irish red-head was a regular at my parish - a gregarious, genuinely caring woman who slaved away at a hair salon to provide for her son. And to have him taken so young, barely twenty-two, a few months after his wedding, well, my heart crumbled to bits. No mother should endure the loss of her child, and I did everything in my power to ease her burden, if only a little.

The burial was unlike any other I'd lead, the hot and muggy summer day a perfect backdrop for the heated crowds that congregated at Trinity Church, on the corner of Broadway and Wall Street. Lower Manhattan's totalitarian skyscrapers completely dominated life below, congesting the flow of traffic. It was a constricted space, fueling fiery passions in a sea of angry New Yorkers, seeming to batter the good intentions of the solemn gathering with all the grace of an abusive husband. Even the church appeared spiteful, its pyre-like Gothic form providing no relief from the blazing sun overhead. Rebuilt in 1846 and standing since, Trinity and its adjacent cemetery endured the countless trials of the ages, cultural springboards to New York's rich and romantic past. No one wanted anybody to meddle with this history.

Yet Chris' widow Nadia had acquired a plot at Trinity Churchyard for her late husband. In a statement she released to the press, she claimed he deserved "a hero's burial". Don't ask me how she pulled that one off, no body or soul interred there since the 1800s, his grave a short walk from the likes of Robert Fulton and Alexander Hamilton. Of course, the press was all over the place, flocking like seagulls around the gates and police barricades.

You know, I've always seen the media as seagulls. They fly in, make a lot of noise, crap on everything, and fly away as quickly as they came, often with something I wasn't in the mood to share. The analogy never failed to bring a smile to my lips, even there, where the number of camera crews, news vans, and paparazzi bordered on ludicrous. This was a story for the tabloids - a story of a boy who kidnapped then fell in love with the heiress to the Guardia Company fortune, gunned down by some Latin American country's political insurgents caught in a stalemate with police, and buried in New York's most famous cemetery. Definitely fit for the tabloids, not CNN.

Then there were the opinionated residents and public officials, parading with signs like they had nothing better to do, protesting the defiling of historic grounds by a "common criminal". I didn't believe much of what I read in the papers, especially when it came to the boy I watched grow up. Sure, he had his faults, but no worse than the teens I counseled in my Youth Ministry department. No matter what people said, I didn't believe he brainwashed her into marriage to get at her family's wealth. The love I felt between them was pure and unadulterated. The small glances, the knowing reflected in the young couple's eyes, I'd seen like a gift. And even if that weren't the case, I still didn't believe the stories, for Gina's sake. She was stuck with a lot of the mess that went on, out of the unconditional love for her child.

The group of attendees gathered near the grave that afternoon was small, a few family members and friends. Everyone was on edge, attempting to ignore the chaos from beyond the fences that echoed off the scattered headstones and grew louder. Gina stood in the front with Nadia and her parents. Behind them were the Asian girl I met at the wedding, Lisa Chang, and her parents. I knew Lisa was one of Chris' high school friends, and her father was in R&D for Guardia Co. Some of Gina's and Chris' other friends attended, as did some Guardia officials, Trinity officials, official press. Okay, so there were more officials than family and friends. But the funeral felt like it should - a touching, poignant ceremony that left a lasting impression. As soon as I mounted the podium and welcomed everybody, the irate shouting, clicking of cameras, and general din from the city evaporated, as if the laws of the universe demanded a moment of silence for the boy's passing.

Gina was an emotional wreck. I gave her as many comforting looks as I could, holding back tears while proclaiming a solid Canticle of Luke. Fortunately, my sentimental tendencies were distracted by the widow beside her. The angelic young blonde, dressed as darkly dismal as the rest, barely flinched, her soft yet rigid countenance and icy eyes fixed upon the closed casket. She clutched at the cross she wore around her neck, the blood all but drained around her whitened knuckles and fingers.

For the life of me, I couldn't read her emotions. She didn't appear grief-stricken, but was in no way happy either. A touch of sadness, yes, maybe some anxiety, and perhaps even a glimmer of hope. To what end, I wasn't sure. But her attitude held me transfixed, to the point where I found myself staring, and despite being the center of attention, I hoped no one noticed.

I ended with a customary final prayer, the Latin rolling gracefully from my lips. "Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine. Et lux perpetua luceat ei. Requiescat in pace. Amen." Gina was the only one who performed the Sign of the Cross with me. I assumed as much, the Van Drakes and Trinity Church itself were Episcopalian. Concluding the ceremony, I thanked everyone for coming, and gave Gina a consoling embrace as the gatherers dispersed. Nadia's father left to confront the protesters and press, sacrificing himself to the wolves so the others could make a hasty escape. Whispering in Gina's ear, I told her to depart with the others, that I'd see to everything else. She left willingly, though not without one last look at her son's final resting place.

I left soon after to clear some closing details at the church office. The process, which included a friendly chat with a Trinity pastor and a dodge-the-question session with a television crew, lasted little more than an hour. Returning to give my own final prayer of salvation for Chris, I was surprised to find Nadia there, sitting at the foot of the freshly filled grave and staring intently. I was close enough to touch her before she noticed my arrival, jumping to her feet in alarm.

"Oh, I'm sorry Father. You startled me," she said, wiping the earth off her billowing black dress.

"I didn't mean to sneak up on you. It's been awhile since I've had a chance to speak with you. I.. err.. only wish it was under different circumstances. May I join you?" She seemed not to hear, and we stood together for a long amount of time. I had to admit, I was worried about how she was handling her husband's death. Either she was stronger willed than most people, or was not yet gripping the reality of the situation. Her hand remained wrapped around the cruciform on her neck.

"That's a lovely piece of jewelry you have there," I mentioned, awkwardly breaking the silence. "I meant to say something at your wedding."

She slowly opened her hand, granting me a better view. The item was exquisitely crafted of an iridescent material, resembling glass embossed with silver in several Celtic designs, all suspended on a silver chain. A piece of the bottom segment was visibly broken off. "This? It's been in the family for generations." She closed her hand again. "I was wearing it when I met Chris. It reminds me of... a lot of things."

More silence. I supposed I was a little over-zealous in thinking she would open up to me. I met her few times, wasn't part of her religious denomination, and happened to be there solely because of Chris' mother. My eyes wandered back to the grave and the simple, bleach-white headstone that contrasted the faded, ancient grave markers around it. The inscription was in Gothic print.

_Here we honor_

_Christopher O'Kelly_

_February 3, 1982 - July 17, 2004_

_May he remain a light for our future_

Beneath were a number of symbols like nothing I'd seen before, their significance as enigmatic as when I first laid eyes on them.

Nadia turned to me. Her eyes melted before mine and seemed more like dams, supporting a flood of pent-up memories and emotions waiting to burst through. "Father, may I ask you a question?"

"Certainly."

"Well..." she said, "it's more of a philosophical question. Something that's been on my mind recently. You being a man of morals, I'm hoping you might be able to help me."

"Sure, go ahead. I'll try to answer to the best of my knowledge." I forced a reassuring smile, and she shuffled uneasily.

Pausing a moment, she took a deep breath and continued. "Let's say, hypothetically, I find myself in a position where I can save a number of people's lives. Doing so would be the right thing to do. Correct?"

"Well, yes." I wasn't sure what she was getting at.

"But let's say saving them meant other people would die, or not exist at all, and I know this. Would it still be right?"

"Err.." I was taken aback, never confronted with that kind of question before. It was theoretical musings, something to be debated by clergy analyzing passages from the scriptures. Yet her buoyant cheeks and tender lips were constricted to the point of pain, and the fist around her cross was shaking. Obviously, the strange question plagued her conscious, though what bothered me was how the question was more of a worry than the loss of her husband.

"That's quite a, umm.. unique question, Nadia," I stuttered, tumbling over words that gave me time to think. "I'd say... that the Lord only holds you accountable for your own actions. And not just the actions, but the intentions behind them. If they were done for good, to save people, as you said, then that is all that matters." Finding a sudden inspiration, I followed my train of thought. "For those who would die, it would be by the choice and free will of another, by either sin of commission or omission, but still by their own choice. Do you understand?"

"I think so," Nadia said. "But what about those who wouldn't exist, for instance, those who are never born because I intervened with the lives of one of the parents? Again, hypothetically."

I chuckled at the absurdity of the question, but when her face flushed with offense, I quickly cleared my throat and said, "It's impossible to know how your actions will impact somebody else's, though I believe that if someone were meant to exist, nothing you, I, or anyone else could do would be able to change that. God gives all his children a chance at life, it is only our actions as humans that can tend to cut it shor-" I stopped, remembering whose grave we were standing beside. "I'm.. uhh.. sorry."

Nadia smiled. "It's okay. I knew what I shared with Chris wouldn't last forever. I know Chris loves me, that he's smiling down on me now, happy to have spent his time here with me. And I'm satisfied with that knowledge." She sighed, her features focused on some distant thought. "I've been... keeping the truth a secret for a while now. The truth about our relationship..." The cemetery was empty, but she lowered her voice to barely a whisper. "Father, I'm not sure how much time I have left. Nor does Lisa. But I... have a heavy cross to bear." I listened, a deep unsettling suspicion churning in my stomach.

"Are you busy tomorrow morning?" she asked.

"No."

"Then meet me at the coffee shop at 13th and Broadway at nine, if you can." I nodded.

We spent the remainder of the time in front of the grave until the groundskeeper kicked us out. Her words circled dizzyingly through my head, conjuring up all possibilities. The unsteady wavering in her voice, the look in her eyes, all had me feeling nervous. I didn't know what I would be getting myself into. My compassionate side only wanted to help the girl, while my boyish curiosity wanted to learn more about her and her secret dilemma under the pretense of priestly aid. It felt underneath all the more wrong, but I didn't care. I was going to see her again.


	2. Coffee at Cosi

Chapter 2: Coffee at Cosi

The damp city air met me with devastating force as I departed the Union Square subway terminal, weaving in and out of the morning commuters. Though happy to be wearing plain clothes, I missed my collared button-down and pants, as even the roughest New Yorker moved aside for a priest in a hurry. I risked another brief glance at my watch. 9:20. I never aimed to be late on purpose, but powerful forces of nature always prevented my arrival within a decent amount of time. I've been like that as long as I can remember, a trained procrastinator, serially five minutes late for appointments or weekly Masses.

Darting across the 14th Street traffic and turning right onto 13th, I recalled my years as a sprinter in high school. The same outdoor heat, sweat glistening off my pale skin, lungs experiencing the impact of a puncture wound. It was a masochistic thrill. I imagined keeping up with the school-boy version of myself from over a decade before. My lithe, five-foot ten-inch frame and powerful quads were evidence of my morning exercise routine, a relaxing six mile run on Richmond Terrace alongside Kill Van Kull, where New Jersey reared its ugly head over the rough waters. Gliding swiftly past the pedestrians, watching their awed or jealous glances, I felt strong, independent, and free.

The rendezvous emerged in the distance. It was one of those swank, fast-casual coffee houses, called Cosi. Like your typical city storefront restaurant, its front was almost entirely glass. The interior had a much brighter design scheme, reminiscent of the art of Mondrian. I spotted Nadia leaning against an exterior wall, the glinting of her cross catching my eye. Hiding beneath a Yankees cap and thick sunglasses, she huddled in an oversized t-shirt, her hands tucked into the pockets of her baggy jeans. Her usual demure poise was replaced by a despondently heavy demeanor that ignored the swelteringly humid conditions. Coupled with her choice of fashion, I understood why people described her as a tomboy. I stopped next to her, singing quiet praises to God that I could catch my breath.

"Good... morning...!" I cheerfully announced my presence in between large gulps of air. Nadia patted my shoulder and snickered as I huffed and puffed, hunched over in front of her.

"Good morning. You managed to sneak up on me again Father. I didn't recognize you without your priest outfit."

"It happens to me frequently, don't feel bad. I'm glad you waited for me."

"I got here a few minutes ago. I'm not feeling so well this morning, but I could use some coffee. Let's go inside!" Her words blurred together into one mess of sounds, and before I knew it, her cold little fingers grabbed my arm and pulled me through the door. There weren't many customers, a few sitting and chatting, most surfing the net on their laptops. We moved to the counter where a thin young man with brown hair and freckles greeted us.

"Hey," he addressed Nadia. "I thought that was you outside. I'm sorry I couldn't make it yesterday. I wanted to go but my parents wouldn't let me. How are you holding up?" His face was wrought with concern; I assumed he was talking about the burial.

"I'm doing okay," she replied. "Oh, Fritz. I want you to meet a friend of mine, Father Paul."

Fritz looked me over, confused. "Good morning.. umm.. Father. You sure had me fooled; I didn't realize priests could look normal." His eyes opened wide. "No, I mean I didn't know you could wear clothes. Err, I mean, clothes that everyone else wears and priests don't-"

"I know what you meant," I interrupted with a smile, not wanting him to dig a deeper hole. "A pleasure to meet you."

"Oh, yes, nice to meet you too. Any friend of Nadia's is a friend of mine." Fritz cringed, his face bright red. "So, what can I get you this morning? The usual?"

"Yes please," Nadia answered, turning to me. "I ate already, but you can get something, my treat. They have some good sandwiches here." I was busy trying to decipher something that resembled coffee from the myriad of options on the 'coffee' menu, finally admitting defeat.

"Do you have any plain, normal coffee here?"

Fritz nodded. "Sure we do. Cream or sugar? And what size?"

"No, just black. The smallest you have will be fine."

"Got it." Fritz whipped around and yelled some commands to another employee working the service bar. "One small black drip and one large caramel artic." Fritz started conversation again. "I'm so happy you dropped by this morning. I haven't seen you in a while."

"Yea, a lot has happened." She succumbed to silence, staring at the faux marble counter-top. Fritz looked at me for help. The kid had a good heart, but certainly less tact than me. I jumped in.

"I'm sure you've been busy too, Fritz," I said.

"Not at all," he remarked. "This is my only job for the summer, so my dad - 'the manager' - can keep an eye on me, and business has been deader than a graveyard these past few-" He stopped, and his face again exploded with shock. "Ooooh, I mean that business is really slow. Not dead as in dead people - wait, I didn't mean to say that either, I mean... I think your coffees are almost ready." He took off and returned with cheeks so red they matched the artwork on the walls. "I'm really sorry, these are on the house," he said as he handed us our drinks.

"Don't be silly," said Nadia, pulling out a twenty. "Keep the change." Not waiting for a response, she grabbed my arm and pulled me to a small couch and table nestled in the back corner. As soon as we sat down, she erupted with giggles, and I heaved a sigh of relief. At least she found his blunderings humorous.

"So... have you been friends with Fritz long?" I asked. "He seems like a very nice kid."

Nadia stopped slurping up her frozen coffee. "Yea, he's very nice. I haven't known him for too long. Actually, I think it was a long time. I'm not really sure."

"You're not really sure?"

"Lisa would be able to tell you, she has a diary to figure out approximately how long we were gone. Though she and Chris already knew Fritz from high school. I met him when we were running from the police."

"You were running from the police?" I put down my coffee, never hearing that before.

"Yes, but only because they thought Chris kidnapped me."

"So he didn't kidnap you."

"Of course he didn't!" she said, more matter-of-factly than angry, but I sensed the frustration. I didn't want her to think I wasn't on her side.

"That's what I figured. So what did happen?" The conversation abruptly ceased. I struggled to read her beyond the sunglasses and Yankees cap, when I discovered that was all I needed to read. Like her clothes hid her person, she hid her secrets. "It's all right. If you don't want to tell me, I understand. They are your personal memories, to do with as you please, to tell whomever you wish. But you did ask me to come meet you for a reason." She nodded.

"I know a lot of things," she whispered, "and have done a lot of things that puts me in a dangerous situation. The same with Lisa... and Chris." My heart leapt into my throat at the sound of her implications.

"You don't think... that Chris was..."

She shook her head. "I don't know. But even if he was, there'd be no way I could figure it out. Events can be manipulated so easily, even a fall off a ladder can be triggered by something set in motion long ago."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand. But if there is something I can do to help..."

"There is."

I perked. "What is it?"

"Trust me." She slid one of her hands under mine. It was cold.

"That's it?"

"That's it. Because of what I'm going to tell you." I opened my mouth to ask another question, as if I hadn't been interrogating her enough, but promptly shut it and listened. From the beginning of my encounters with her, I could portend she was reining in a lot, and the loss of her husband only aggravated the stress put on her. Perhaps she wanted someone to hear her out, and there's no one better than a priest who not only listens to the darkest of secrets, but is also subject to vows of confidentiality. Regardless of her reasons, she began her tale, narrating quickly and earnestly.

* * *

I suppose it started in June of '99, the summer before my senior year at Spellman. Or what was supposed to be. I wanted to relax, happy to have the freedom from school the long mid-year break could offer. Days on the beach with my friends, nights watching movies or going out - that was my vision for the summer. My dad had other ideas.

Between studying for the SATs and learning to navigate the Darwinistic world known as corporate enterprising, my dad carted me from university to university, putting me on display to the Dean of Admissions like I was some sort of princess each school had no choice but to accept. I thought it was pointless. I knew I could get into any of them. My dad captivated the delegates sent to speak with us with a subtle hint of his fortune or the briefest flash of a checkbook. The only lingering question was which Ivy would give a better deal. My dad went to Columbia. As did his father, and his father, and his before him. It was likely I would be going there. But being the shrewd businessman he was, he explored all his options, willing to forsake tradition with the prospect of further gain.

The visits were always the same. A beaming, irritatingly stuffy collection of faculty and carefully selected students greeted us, and took us on a tour of the campus and their state-of-the-art facilities, most importantly their top-ranked schools of business. This was followed by a complimentary lunch at a nearby restaurant, a look at the business school's core curriculum, and a question-and-answer forum with the Open House committee. I was very open about how boring the whole ordeal was, which made my dad very irate. Which, in turn, had me suffer a number of lectures on the ride home. "Responsibility," he said, "is the greatest thing a man can learn. My father passed that on to me, and now I tell you, in the hopes you can carry on our family's legacy." I angrily retorted I wasn't a man, but a woman, and that made him even more upset. I often found myself wondering if he wanted a son rather than a daughter, and true to my nature, reminded him as often as I could. And despite how much we were at each other's throats, we still took those trips to the Ivies. Out of all of them, I was looking forward to visiting Columbia the most, since it was here in the city and I wouldn't have to travel far away. I saw it as less time for lectures.

The fateful morning began like any other. Smash alarm clock - check. Take a ridiculously long shower - check. Put on boys' clothing that caressed my parents' last nerve in all the right places - check. End up sulking in a limo dressed like a bimbo - check. But we weren't heading to Columbia right away. There was a Millennial Science Fair of some sort at Nevis Laboratories, in Irvington, about twenty miles north of the city. It was technically part of Columbia, specifically their physics department, and supposed to be a quick stop before proceeding with the usual routine at the main campus. One of my dad's current head physicists used to be a professor there, Tzu Chang... I think you met him before, he was at the funeral. Short, stocky Chinese guy, horrendous comb-over... At the time, my dad funded a lot of his research, and was going to be honored for his contributions to the progress of science. I never understood my dad's desire to expand his research and development branch into the realm of general physics. He made enough profit continuing to manufacture and ship weapons, and by that point hadn't made any advancement in his extraneous projects. Actually, Professor Chang had a history of producing faulty equipment and experiments, or so I'd heard from people I know within Guardia. But, my dad was in charge, and nothing I thought about could change the fact I was still miserable.

Once we arrived, I was surprised by how beautiful the grounds were. For a moment, I forgot I was supposed to be totally opposed to the excursion. A lush, verdant sixty-acre estate surrounded a picturesque colonial-style manor house, its bright bricks and bleached columns and molding were set serenely against the rich open sky. When my dad had said physics laboratories, I was expecting something drab, but it was a refreshing change from the city. Don't get me wrong, I'm a city girl at heart, but there was something magical about that place. A colonial mansion built by the Hamilton family, where leading scientists pushed the boundaries of technology and knowledge. It was a place where the past met the future.

Tents and booths of various sizes, shapes, and colors were erected across the sprawling lawns, mostly manned by college students showing their latest projects. Food and games kept the crowds interested, as well as tours of the grounds and the labs. I believe the fair was open to the public, at least to the scientific community. Everyone was getting into the spirit of the rapidly approaching millennium, uniting in celebration and marveling at all the wonders we humans have created in the last thousand years. There was also a Y2K booth where students preached the end of the world to anyone willing to listen. That whole Y2K thing was so stupid, then again, I didn't believe the world was going to end either, which it was, but not for another thousand years. Though tha- well, I'll explain it soon enough. How about I skip to where I met Chris.

Early on, I managed to slip away from my dad, wanting to explore the scenery without his overbearing presence. This wasn't my room, a cramped office, or a university. It was a fair, with normal people doing normal things. A science fair, yes, but still a fair, and probably the closest thing to a mall I saw so far that summer. Unfortunately, I ensnared the attention of a degenerate photographer as I walked about the events. Finding me far more interesting than anything at the fair, he made it his priority to stalk me, throwing me lascivious looks while blowing kisses and snapping my picture. For once, I wished my dad was around. I tried my best to hide in the crowd, unsuccessfully since it was rather puny in scale. I kept looking over my shoulder to see if he was following me, moving at an increasingly rapid pace, and then, WHAM! I ran smack into someone and fell flat on my ass. I felt so embarrassed, my pride bruised more than I was, and I struggled to my feet. A stranger's hand grabbed hold of my arm, lifting me up, and I stood to face a young punk - Chris, as I would soon find out.

I remember laying eyes on him for the first time, as if it happened yesterday. He was of medium-height, his spiky red hair helping him appear taller, and his body thin but well-defined. He donned a rough pair of baggy Jnko's and a frighteningly intense blue and yellow Sublime t-shirt. His face... was perfect. Youthful but chiseled features accentuated his crisp jaw line and full lips. And gorgeous, soft, emerald green eyes. I loved his eyes the most. All I did was stare into them, unable to find anything to say. I would have felt really dumb if he started coherent conversation, but all he did was stare back at me. I don't want to call it love at first sight, because I didn't feel any different. I didn't feel much of anything except the aftermath of our collision, but for some reason he held my gaze. I was the first to apologize.

"I'm so sorry... Are you okay?" I went to grab my cross, like I always do when I'm nervous or upset, and discovered it was gone.

I freaked, and was instantly thinking back to when I might have lost it. It had been a family heirloom since the early colonial period, and my parents would kill me if anything happened to it. They yell at me as it is for wearing it too much. "My pendant! Oh no! Don't tell me I lost it," I remember shouting. The boy gave me an odd look, bent down, and stood back up, my cross dangling from his fingers. He tried holding in a laugh. Leave it to me to make a fool out of myself.

I threw him a playful expression and attempted an explanation for my sudden outburst. "It has a lot of sentimental value. May I have it back?"

"Sure," he said, placing it in my outstretched hand. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

I shook my head, and put my hands on my hips in mock intimidation. "No, I'm built tougher than I look."

"Oh, ok." The boy pushed his hands into his pockets. Awkward silence ensued. You know, the kind where you are sure the moment you open your mouth to force conversation, something completely inane or humiliating would come out. So I stared.

"It was nice.. err.. running into you." The boy curved the corner of his mouth into a subtle smile, dipped his head, turned, and headed back into the crowd. As I watched him go, I mentally kicked myself for not speaking up. It wasn't often I was rendered speechless, much less from a guy. There was just something about him. He resonated a worldly aura, having a confident gait to his step and a gleam of hidden intelligence. Not to mention, he looked as good from behind as he did from the front. That settled it; I was a girl on a mission.

"Hey! Wait up!" I called out, replacing my necklace as I ran to catch up with him. He swiveled around, that smile resurfacing on his lips. "I feel a little out of place here. Would you mind if I walked around with you for a while?"

"I guess... I'm visiting a friend of mine, but can't find her."

"I'll help you look. Two heads are better than one!" I laughed, fakely. So did he.

"My name's Chris." We shook hands, finally getting a formal introduction. I was amazed by his strong grip.

"You're a true gentleman," I said, half sarcastically and half in honesty. "I'm Naa-err-lll uhh..." I began giving him my real name, but decided against it half-way, and trying to come up with a good alternative on the fly ended up with an odd series of noises. I don't think Chris was fully paying attention, but after I said it, he gave me a bewildered expression and said 'Marla?' I nodded. Looking back, knowing who I was wouldn't have made a difference, but I was paranoid. I didn't want him to treat me differently knowing I was, well, loaded.

Chris stood thoughtful for a moment, biting his bottom lip and grooving his head. "Marla... It's different, but pretty cool." I tried to switch topics as fast as I could.

"Pleased to meet you, Chris. Now, lead on!"

For the next hour we were inseparable, and we talked the whole time. Truthfully, I did the majority, as he wasn't much of a talker. But I did get a few responses out of him. He was born and raised on Staten Island, and was in my grade level, but was probably going to SUNY if he decided to go to college at all. He lived by himself with his mom, doing odd jobs for money, and spent most of his spare time involved with martial arts. I nearly died when he said he was regional champion for Brazilian Jiu Jitsu among high schoolers, and was interested in other forms like mixed martial arts and kendo. I told him about myself as well - for the most part. He was fairly liberal, anti-gun and such, probably influenced in his childhood by his karate classes. You know, where they learn about violence as a 'last resort' and 'only in self-defense'. I didn't want him to know my family's primary stake was in weapons manufacturing and shipping. To me, his stance was admirable, and I found I liked him a whole lot more. Quiet yet opinionated. Strong, somewhat rebellious, but still a gentleman. I like those things in a guy. I would come to love them in Chris.

All the while we enjoyed the fair and the beautiful day that came with it. We played a few games, ate some food, and overall, were having fun. At one point I convinced him to buy me a giant bag of Skittles, my favorite since I was a little girl. During the purchase, the next tent over caught Chris' eye and he succeeded in pulling me over. Spread out before me was one of the most amazing collections of antique weaponry I had ever seen, rivaling my dad's private collection. Various swords of assorted sizes and shapes were arranged in glass cases alongside a number of other weapons, some beyond my recognition. All sorts of muskets, pistols, and rifles stood neatly arranged on racks, and a large picture depicting a mushroom cloud hung suspended from the rear, swinging gently in the spring breeze. Most, if not all of the crowd walking by scoffed at him for displaying something so ominous and depressing at the fair. Whatever. Weapons evolved with the progression of science and technology, and in many cases not only preceded but was a driving factor in human advancement. Their moral significance wasn't the issue, and I agreed with the owner of the booth who took such a dramatic step to display a less popular aspect of history.

The owner wasn't hard to spot either - a short, old man with sunglasses that resembled goggles and a large, bushy white mustache. He wore a button-down white Oxford shirt and neatly pressed dress slacks, a bit much for the warm weather though he didn't seem to notice. He greeted us enthusiastically as we approached, talking with a very think, unrecognizable accent and offering to answer any questions we might have about the history of weaponry. While Chris gazed longingly at a katana replica in one of the cases, I introduced us to the man and began polite conversation. His name was Mr. M, he was a weapons historian, and he enjoyed recreating old weapons, which he sold to re-enactment companies, museums, or for private commissions from hobbyists. I found him remarkably interesting. Somewhere in our talk my cross stole his attention.

"My word, girl. That is an exquisite piece of jewelry. May I see it?" I obliged. He removed his sunglasses and inspected it with alarming scrutiny. After a few minutes, he locked his dark blue eyes with mine and bluntly stated, "I wish to purchase this. Name any price." His once jovial face was expressionless. Chris looked up from his trance when he heard my gasp and watched as I wrenched my cross from the man's grip.

"It's not for sale!" I cried. Mr. M. left his grave trance as quickly as he had entered it, mirth flooding his once serious features.

"I apologize for my audacity, my dear. It obviously holds much meaning for you, and I would not dare ask you to part with it." Pushing his sunglasses down over his eyes, he leaned over the counter and whispered in my ear, "Keep it safe."

I didn't have time to ponder his mysterious counsel. "Oh, I can see Lisa! C'mon Marla," Chris interrupted, pointing at some figure on the steps of the manor house, and he began pulling me away.

Mr. M. shoved his business card into my hand as I left the tent, shouting, "Search me out, if fate wills it!" I had barely enough time to tuck it in my purse and throw the cross around my neck before we faced Chris' friend, apparently the Lisa he mentioned.

Now, I'm really good friends with Lisa. She's probably my closest one. She's absolutely great. Caring. Strong. A veritable prodigy. You name it, if it's a good thing, it's her. But when we met, we held such disdain for each other. Granted, most of the blame can be placed on the ignorant prejudices I latched onto growing up, which began brewing the moment I laid eyes on her. Here was a very homely Asian girl who looked well below her years, short and undeveloped. Her hideous fashion sense didn't help; she wore an orange polo shirt and brown canvas pants, oversized combat boots and thick glasses, and a large construction helmet atop closely-cropped hair. Okay, what I'm wearing isn't exactly fit for a Paris runway either, but I choose to make a statement to my parents and to keep from being spotted in public. She seemed to like the way she dressed, or simply didn't care. Either way, her appearance and the thoughts in my head produced a fit of giggles, most of which were skillfully covered by an abrupt bout of coughing. Her sharp, chocolate eyes bore holes deep into mine, and then opened wide. I knew she recognized me.

"Marla, I want you to meet Lisa Chang, a very close friend of mine. Lisa, this is Marla. She's hiding from her father, and I offered to keep her company. You don't mind, right?" Now it was my turn to realize I knew her - the daughter of the professor my dad was meeting with. And it was her turn to hide a fit of giggles. She knew I had given Chris a false name and identity.

"A pleasure to meet you, Marla was it? I wasn't expecting another visitor, but I am most assured that the security here wouldn't dare refuse your presence." Her lips curved into a grin, and I stifled a response. I was relieved she was willing to play along, but I wasn't sure if the cost would be worth it. Her last sentence reminded me of the leash I was on. She turned to Chris. "Let's go inside, there is something I've been dying to show you."

She led us through the stately rooms and twisted corridors within Nevis toward a room in the back, stopping to explain our arrival at the security window. I was entranced by the men and women in lab coats running beneath beautiful oil paintings and rich interior architecture. Printers spewed out papers at a rapid pace, creating volumes upon volumes of statistical data, graphs, numbers, and diagrams. A very modern elevator fit comfortably in a Neo-Classical niche, unloading and loading passengers and taking them to what must have been a basement below. Chris also surveyed the labs, wrapping an arm around me as we went. I smiled, my face growing instantly warmer, but Lisa spoiled the moment with a wicked glance.

"So Marla, tell me a bit about yourself. It isn't often Chris runs around with another girl."

"Hey!" Chris butted in, "I only just met her!" He laughed, and dropped his arm. I sighed, and proceeded to falsify stories about myself when she asked again, pumping out lie after lie. I didn't believe Chris would ever be friends with me after he discovered everything he knew about me was a lie. By the time we reached our destination, I had sunk into a miserable state.

"We're here," she said, and we ducked into the room. It was small and windowless, not at all decorated like most of the labs. It was also a mess. All kinds of machines lined the walls and were scattered about, along with books, tools, papers, pencils, and calculators, among other things. She explained her research and findings as she showed us around her humble workspace. I can hardly remember any of what she said, way above my knowledge and outside my area of expertise. But I was very impressed, with her lab, her intelligence, and I could see why Chris admired her. During her elaborate speech, Chris positioned himself behind me and ran his fingers idly through my ponytail.

Lisa immediately changed subjects. "-and now I shall show you one of the greatest feats ever attempted by Lisa the Great! I shall make a metal disk levitate before your very eyes." Placing the aforementioned disk in a cleared space in the center of the room, she ushered us over to a corner and turned on various switches that signaled hums from some machines. I stuffed my Skittles into my purse and moved over next to Chris, making sure to inch extra close. Lisa joined us, and cranking up a few dials, motioned for us to watch as the disk began floating around the room. I'm not kidding. It jittered at first, then gracefully ascended to shoulder-level, hovering precariously in the air. After allowing us ample time to fully appreciate her work, Lisa cut the power, and the disk clattered loudly as it struck the floor. She turned and beamed at us.

"Wow, Lis. That's awesome!" Chris said as he enveloped her in a hug. "You should try and talk your dad into getting you a job with Columbia. You practically know everything they teach at college anyways. And maybe Guardia if your dad takes that job."

I was too busy inspecting the disk to see Lisa's reaction, but her voice was filled with contempt. "Maybe with Columbia, but I wouldn't want to work for Guardia. From what I've heard, they don't treat their employees very well. In fact, my father constantly comes home complaining that the company is pressuring him too hard to take up lucrative government contracts on researching more powerful weapons of destruction. China had tried the same thing when he was younger, certainly with more direct means, but to us it is the same." I gathered the strength to look at her, trying my best to wear the phrase 'that isn't my fault' in my expression. She wanted someone to blame, and I was an easy target. Yet it only succeeded in making me angry, not apologetic. I wouldn't let myself be as easy a target as she planned.

I held the disk up over my head. "So, how exactly did you make this thing stay up in the air," I said bitterly, inspecting it with fake intensity. "I don't see any strings... hmm... maybe magnets."

"Marla," Chris said, his face showing obvious disappointment. "That wasn't fair. I know it's hard to believe, but we both saw it with our own eyes."

"Don't worry Chris," Lisa joined in, "my genius is often under-appreciated. We can use something of hers as evidence for the effect's existence." She pointed at my neck and glared at me. "How about that gaudy cross around your neck."

I grabbed it. "My cross is not gaudy, helmet girl!"

"Hey, hey!" Chris shouted, placing himself in between us, turning to look at me. I gazed into his eyes, and he shook his head. "Look, Marla, maybe you had better go."

That was it. When it came down to it, Chris chose Lisa over me - understandably, as they'd been friends and we recently met. Lisa's bulbous head peered around the side of Chris, smirking, and I knew I couldn't go without a fight. This was no longer about Chris. It was about pride.

I tugged hard on my cross and slammed it down onto the ground, wincing as I heard a loud snap. My parents were going to kill me. But my mind was far too set on my mission. "I'm sorry Chris, I over-reacted," I said, coyly. "Here, we can run the experiment again on my cross. Then I'll have no choice but to believe in the effect. Right?" Lisa's face fell fast as she realized I wasn't going to leave, and was all but forced to acquiesce. In silence, we assembled in the corner and she started up the machines. But, as karma, or maybe fate, would have it, things went terribly wrong.

As soon as the cross began lifting off the ground, sharp blue streaks of electricity began to bounce from between my cross and the machines. The light bulbs on the ceiling shattered, but the electricity that popped and crackled kept the room bright enough to see. I panicked and screamed at Lisa, as did Chris. She was too busy trying to figure out what went wrong to pay attention, hastily flicking switches and pulling power cords. Whatever was happening, it was incredibly loud, like thunder, and the air whipped about the room.

Something caused Chris to stop shouting and I turned to look. The room was bending onto itself, being drawn into the center around my floating cross. I know it sounds fantastic, but that's what I saw. The... space around my cross was swirling, like a vortex. I can't really explain it well; it's something you have to see to believe. The three of us stared, transfixed. Lisa appeared intrigued, her eyes not filled with confusion like Chris', but with the hope that she discovered something completely new and could be proclaimed the genius she felt she deserved to be. I turned on her in a rage.

"You did this, didn't you? Make it stop, make it stop now!" I was frantic, and tears streamed down my face.

She pushed me away. "Get off me, Marla. Or should I say, Nadia Van Drake." Chris tried to stop the fight, apparently missing my name in the noise, but Lisa kept going. "I can't explain the cause of the malfunction, but I don't need you crying like a little baby in my face right now."

"And I didn't need your dumb-ass inventions to ruin my day or my necklace either, but you pulled that one off well enough, didn't you?" I was yelling at the top of my lungs, as it had grown extremely loud. Papers were flying everywhere, and Chris ducked in time before a calculator bore itself into the wall behind him. A screwdriver ricocheted off of Lisa's helmet, and she seemed not to notice as she continued her onslaught.

"At least I'm not the slut too busy trying to get boned by Chris to realize how utterly irritating I am."

"Listen, bitch." I stuck a finger right into her face. "You can't talk to me like that, and I'll make sure you pay for this, if I get out of here alive. You're nothing to me. It's in your blood." I regretted what I said as soon as I said it, I really did. I couldn't believe that those words came out of my mouth. Lisa to this day won't let me live it down, but she knows she got me back, big time. She stood there for a moment, very still despite the chaos in the room. Then she pulled back, and punched me square in the left eye. And let me tell you, Lisa packs a mean punch. I screamed and reeled back in pain, grabbing at my eye and accidentally stepping in between two columns of blue electricity. The column to my right was slowly arcing in my direction, and I froze, stricken with fear. Though it certainly looked dangerous, whether it was or not, I would never know. Chris jumped out of the corner and dove onto me, pushing both of us out of the way - right into the 'vortex' of space.

It's hard for me to remember what happened next. I was still in Chris' arms, though I felt completely weightless. I could see Lisa on the ground shouting at us, eyes filled with tears, though I couldn't hear what she was saying. It was either deafeningly loud or perfectly quiet where I was, I wasn't sure which. The worst part, however, was that my body wouldn't respond to anything I told it to do. I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't even feel my heart beat, and I thought I was going to die.

Out of the blue, reality hit me like a ton of bricks. My body began to work again, and I shut my eyes as my vision was flooded with a blindingly bright light. Gravity returned, and I fell to the ground - hard, with Chris on top of me. Combined with Lisa's punch and the shock the vortex did to my system, I completely blacked out. I wasn't sure how long I was under, but by the time I woke up, Chris was being brought to New Gaol and I was in the custody of the Tory friends of the De Lancey family on my way to port New York City-

* * *

"Hold on a minute," I interrupted. I had listened very carefully to her story without asking any of the millions of questions that swam through my mind, but couldn't restrain myself further. I journeyed from interested, to bored, to upset, to in disbelief, to I-don't-know-what toward the end, and I had to clarify whether I heard her right." When you say Tory, and De Lancey, you don't mean..."

"That's exactly what I mean, Father," Nadia answered. "I refused to believe it for a while, but it's true. I had somehow traveled through time to the year 1775, about 224 years earlier."

"Nadia," I said, growing worried. "I know that you've been under a lot of stress lately. Maybe Lisa really did levitate objects, and something went wrong and you were hurt in the accident. But don't you think it's more likely you dreamed it while you were unconscious."

Nadia took off her sunglasses and stared at me with those large, blue eyes, looking very hurt. "You don't believe me, do you? I don't know why I thought you would. Lisa was right, I shouldn't have told anybody. Well, thank you for your time, Father, I'm sorry I wasted it." She stood, and made her way toward the door. I attempted to follow, forgetting the coffee I didn't touch was still sitting on my lap. It spilled all over the floor, the mug shattered, and everybody inside turned to look. Pausing for only a moment, I shouted my apologies to Fritz who appeared with a broom as I chased after Nadia, nearly knocking over a pudgy little tourist with a camera in my pursuit.

"Nadia! Nadia!" I called after her. She was halfway to the next block before she spun on her heels and faced me, her hair all but fallen out of her Yankees hat and her arms crossed over her chest.

"Please, Father, I don't want to talk anymore. Let me go home," she said as I ran up to her. The passers-by on the street gawked at the drama unfolding in public view but kept walking. I motioned for her to lower her voice.

"I only want to say that I'm sorry if I offended you. It's a very interesting story, and if you really want me to believe you, you should know that I'm going to need some time. You can do that for me, can't you?"

Nadia's rigid face softened and she rolled her eyes, smiling slightly. "I'm never going to get anywhere if I keep letting boys talk me into things. Chris could always do it. This isn't going to get me in trouble now, is it?"

"God as my witness, I won't let it happen." I crossed my fingers over my heart, and Nadia giggled. Throwing her arms around me, she gave me a largely unexpected hug. I held onto her for a minute before letting go. The poor girl went through a lot, and was counting on me to believe her tall tale. I could have pretended, but that didn't feel right. The only thing I could really do was give myself time, while trying to find some evidence supporting her story. As I let her go, her cross got caught on a button on my shirt, and we both laughed in unison before fumbling around and finally untangling ourselves. I was glad she was herself again.

"I'll get in touch with you soon. Okay?"

"Sure thing, Father... And thank you. For everything."

"You're welcome." I felt myself blushing. She ran into the distance, and I watched until she vanished around a corner, formulating what I should do in the meantime. The answer was obvious. I needed to speak with the only one alive who could possibly verify Nadia's story. I needed to find Lisa Chang.


	3. Chasing John Hutchison

Chapter 3: Chasing John Hutchison

I managed to track Lisa down sooner than expected. By the end of the week, I stood on a street corner in Levittown, Long Island, in front of what appeared to be an old brick fire station. The building was in need of desperate repair, the sagging gutters and Saran wrapped windows a stark contrast to the brightly lit and well-swept McDonald's next door. Weeds of mammoth proportions forced their way out of cracks that littered the uneven pavement surrounding the station. Graffiti in a spectrum of a colors cascaded across the walls and lot. Even the wooden boards nailed haphazardly over the garage door windows appeared old and in disrepair. Needless to say, I thought I had the wrong address. Checking one last time to verify the numbers matched, I adjusted my collar, marched up the concrete steps, curled my hand into a fist, and gave the door a few overly gentle raps - yes, I was nervous.

I waited, eyeing my reflection in the small glass insert in the center of the door. I knew that if anyone was home, they'd answer. My priestly collar was as clear as day, commanding respect, even from the non-religious. But the cost was pricy, the many covenants a commitment to my relationship with God. Choosing the secular vocation over the ordinal, I avoided the official vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. Though through my ordination, I did make the promise to remain celibate, respect and obey the diocesan bishop, and lead a simple lifestyle. That's not to say I had no regrets, quite the contrary. My earthy semblance and rugged physique often attracted interest from the ladies, and my academic successes had opened the doors for amazing careers if I was so inclined. But ever since I was a child, I knew I was meant for grander things than what this world offered. Something magical, divine, and I pursued the Church as a means for discovering my truer purpose, while having the opportunity to help people along the way.

And still I waited. No answer. I knocked once more, a little louder. Still none. A few minutes later, I was giving the door a good solid pounding, trying to convince myself I wasn't dumb for thinking people actually lived there. Eventually turning to leave, I froze as I heard the small pitter patter of footsteps, followed by the harsh metallic sounds of sliding bolts. Slowly, the door inched open to reveal a wide-eyed Hispanic boy, no older than seven or eight, gazing up at me. Heaving a sigh of relief, I put on my biggest smile and bent down.

"Why hello there. My name is Father Paul. Are your parents around?" I preferred apologizing to the parents for my mistake. The boy stared. I tried again. "Is there anybody else home with you, son?" I annunciated carefully and intelligibly, but garnered no response. The boy rubbed his eyes and stared some more. Realizing he might not speak English, I cleared my throat. "Let's start over, shall we? Hola! Mi nombre es Padre Paul. Yo quiero hablar con sus padres. Si?" I knew I butchered the Spanish beyond recognition, but the practice was good for me. As I awaited a response, a muffled shouting caused both of us to jump in place. Surprise washed across the boy's features and he darted inside, up a distant staircase.

"Manuel! What did I tell you about opening that door? You never know who you might let in... Oh, hello Father." A soot-covered welding helmet and a dirty pair of gloved hands poked around the door. I waved tentatively.

"Hi... I'm just looking for a friend, Lisa, and I think I have the wrong place... I'll be heading home now, thank you for your time..." I began backing away, but my retreat was cut short after the figure lifted the front plate of the helmet. It was Lisa.

"No, I'd say you have the right place, though we progressed from acquaintances to friends rather quickly, didn't we?" I stood dumbfounded, and she laughed. "Won't you come in?" Stepping through the doorway, I entered a make-shift living room.

My assumption of an old fire station was correct, spotting a large brass pole that descended through a hole in the ceiling into a corner of the room. The furniture was neatly arranged around a big-screen TV, and several bookcases lined the far wall, overflowing with books, papers, and odd-looking gadgets. Overall, the place was a touch messy, but felt like a home, the opposite expectation the exterior led me to believe. Only a large door to the far left seemed out of place, leading toward the garage, bearing a large lock and a sign that read 'DANGER: KEEP OUT'. Removing her helmet, gloves, and apron, Lisa plopped herself on a plushy couch, motioning me to an oversized love seat across from her. She was the first to speak as I sat down.

"So, Father, what brings you to my humble establishment? It isn't everyday that I get visitors." My attention returned to the unkempt hostess. Her midnight hair was tied up tightly in an orange handkerchief, and she wiped her hands on a work vest and jeans. I had always thought she was a pretty girl, though if Nadia's earlier description of her was accurate, she had quickly blossomed into a mature young woman. Even in donning such a frumpy outfit, she couldn't hide her athletic body and supple, feminine curves. Her sylphlike cheekbones and soft complexion gave her an alluring, motherly appeal, yet she somehow radiated a certain alertness in her mannerisms - in the way she carried herself, performed the most routine actions. It was almost as if she could spring into action at any moment. Her eyes, the deepest shade of chocolate, appeared as if they knew all there was to know, that lying would be a fruitless endeavor. "Well?..."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. How was I going to breach the topic smoothly? "Thank you for inviting me in, there's something that I wish to speak with you about. I just hope I didn't scare the little one. I do have the unfortunate tendency to make kids anxious."

"Don't tear yourself up. He hasn't spoken a word since he was found." She picked up a pair of glasses off the coffee table and began cleaning them with a rag.

"Oh?" I answered.

"I take care of him until Social Services finds him a good home. I'm sure you can guess how quickly the city is working on that." She rubbed them more furiously.

I shook my head. "No need to explain. It's a very kind gesture, to take him on your own."

"Thank you, Father. There are days when I wish I could do more to help, but for now I try to be the best mother I can be." She paused. "I'd love to toss pleasantries all day, but I do have work that needs to be done. What was it that you wanted to talk to me about?" I was shocked by her bluntness, but I did interrupt whatever it was she was working on. It looked like I had no choice but to get it over with.

"I want you to tell me about the Millennial Fair at Nevis Labs, about five years ago." Lisa's amiable disposition abruptly collapsed. She put on her glasses, her piercing gaze remaining fixed with mine. After moments that expanded into eternities, she rose to her feet and stalked to a nearby bookcase.

"That is a very... interesting question, Father. If it is about Nadia's alleged kidnapping, I already told the police what I knew years ago. And quite frankly, I don't wish to be reminded about what a horrible time-"

"Nadia told me what happened." Lisa halted dead in her tracks. I continued, "Or what she claims happened. Does the year 1775 sound familiar?"

"Please, let this be a dream. Tell me she didn't." When I made no move to take back what I had said, when she read the honesty in my eyes, she let out a pained sigh that sounded conspicuously like "Oh, Nadia." I stood and moved toward her in consolation. Quick as a cat, she grabbed a book off the shelf and threw it across the room. Thrown off by the sudden distraction, I watched the book crash harmlessly onto the floor. When I looked back at Lisa, I found a handgun aimed directly for my forehead. She was breathing heavily, and shaking. I was petrified.

"Father... Forgive me. Too many people know... too many." Her voice trembled with every syllable she uttered. I put my arms up, palms extended peacefully toward her.

"Lisa. Put the gun down. It's okay, I won't tell anybody-"

"No!" Lisa cut in, removing the safety with an audible _click_. "Chris is already dead. Nadia might not care, might not realize, but I do. Fate wants us out of the picture." I licked my lips, trying to come up with anything that would calm her down. She seemed to wait for me to say something, and hearing no response, asked, "Do you believe in fate, Father?" The more I listened, the more she sounded like a lunatic. I really didn't want to answer, but considering a nine millimeter was pointed at my brain, I had no real choice.

"No," I said, with surprising conviction, "I believe that God gives us the free will to write our own futures." Silence. I wasn't sure if there was a right or wrong answer, but I prayed to God it was right.

Lisa retracted the gun, cracking a smile. "You know, if you had said that to me when I was younger, I would have jumped at the chance to engage in a theological debate. It used to be my passion to convince people that science, not God, was the only truth. Now, I don't know what to believe in anymore."

Her demeanor changed far too fast for me to follow. She was no longer quaking violently, instead standing relaxed, her free hand resting delicately on her hip. She must have thought I looked ridiculous in front of her with my hands in the air, and bit her lip to hold in the grin. "You can relax again. Don't worry, I wasn't going to shoot you. See? Empty." She pulled the trigger, and the release snapped shut. I nodded and tried my best to return to my seat with dignity, but wouldn't have been surprised if she could hear the thunderous beating of my heart. I wasn't completely convinced she wasn't insane, either.

"I apologize if I scared you," she said in reconciliation, returning to her spot on the couch. "I had to make sure you were safe."

"Safe?" Now I was furious. "How did pointing a gun at me and scaring me half to death ensure that I was 'safe'? Nadia mentioned something about a dangerous situation, but this is ridiculous. Is someone after you? And what about this 'fate'? She said that too. Not to mention being sucked into a vortex and spit out two hundred some-odd years ago. I don't understand what's going on-." The adrenaline still coursing through my system was a driving force for me to spill everything on my mind out at once.

"Father, please, one thing at a time." Before I could recoil, she leaned over and grabbed my hands, squeezing them gently. I looked into her eyes. "I promise, I will answer all of your questions. Nadia made a decision to let you in on our secret. She has a strong sense about people, and I trust her decision to tell you, but you need to be aware of the consequences." I nodded, and she went on. "With knowledge comes power, and this power will make you a target whether you like it or not. You must promise to never, ever, let anyone else know what I am about to tell you. Is that clear?" She wore such a stern, powerful visage, anyone would be compelled to do as they were told. I quickly affirmed her question, and she sat back in her chair. "Excellent. So let's talk about the fair."

I related Nadia's story, attempting to remember every last detail. All the while, her face held a listless look, enjoying the leisurely stroll down memory lane. Occasionally, an unsuppressed chuckle or snort would escape her lips, and she would quickly clear her throat and encourage me to continue. Once I finished, she sat back and took a moment of quiet reflection before resuming conversation.

"I haven't spoken with anyone about that day in a long, long time. Ha! I gave it to Marla good, didn't I? I sometimes wonder if she still would have ended up in the gate had I not lost my temper and slugged her."

"What exactly was that thing anyway?" I asked. "The 'vortex'. A time portal, if the story is true, that much I know... Did your machines create it?"

Lisa looked offended. "Of course the story is true! And no, my 'machines' didn't create it, though at the time, I thought they could have. Which confused me a great deal. They were only Van der Graaf generators, radio transistors, and Tesla coils - standard items when testing the Hutchison Effect."

"The Hutchison Effect?" Nadia had left out the name and purpose of Lisa's experiment. This was another piece to the puzzle.

"Yes, the Hutchison Effect, accidentally discovered by Vancouver physicist John Hutchison in the late seventies." Lisa's lips extended into the broadest of smiles, and she leaned forward to begin her explanation, gesticulating with her hands as she went. "You see, by focusing a series of low level radio waves into an area stressed by high amounts of voltage, it is possible to manipulate the natural environment through the resulting interference. It isn't really an effect as much as a phenomenon, mostly disregarded by the scientific community since it doesn't follow the order of scientific method. But those who have studied it believe that it taps into Zero Point Energy, which is derived from the spontaneous oscillations of positrons and electrons coming from the quantum vacuum, where massive amounts of dense energy is stored at absolute zero. Thus, very little power is needed to create unbelievable results, such as fracturing, anomalous heating, fusion of dissimilar materials, and levitation... do you understand?"

I shook my head blankly, having comprehended close to nothing of her spiel. "Sorry, I studied physics briefly in the seminary. Most of my studies in science categorize its relationship with God."

"Understandable, I suppose," Lisa said, a hint of pity in her voice. "When I first heard about the effect in high school, I was intrigued. That summer, Columbia was partaking in a national program for high schoolers called Quarknet, where students wishing to advance themselves in physics could apply to participate, and if selected, could spend the summer working at a real physics laboratory. My genius was obviously chosen, but since my father happened to be a professor there, I was able to secure my own temporary space for experiments with whatever unrestricted equipment I needed. My goal for the summer was to narrow down the range of settings to promote levitation alone, which I discovered within the first few weeks. And during the Millennial Fair, I was allowed to bring in visitors. The perfect opportunity to show Chris all my hard work. And you know what occurred from there."

"So the massive energy from the whatever-it-was created the vortex?" I hadn't yet heard the answer to my question.

"Oh, no. I now have adequate reasoning behind the appearance of the time gates. That one had been there for countless years, in that exact spot. I only happened to be the first to open it. Though I can't really take the credit; it belongs to Nadia and her pendant."

"Her pendant? You mean her cross?" I arched an eyebrow.

"Yes, her cross was the key to the temporal lock. I have not had a chance to fully test its elemental composition, but I believe it to be a highly energized ore, created from millions of years of the planet's internal pressure... You look lost again, Father." I had to admit, I was. "How about I continue where Nadia left off? Let's see... Nadia and Chris were pulled into the gate - what I term the vortex - and all I could do was watch helplessly..."

* * *

I was terror-stricken, curled on the floor like a whimpering puppy. My eyes stung from the violent wind and pools of tears welled up from within a guilty conscious. It was I who unleashed hell's fury, the blue fire and brimstone that transformed my lab into a raging tempest. It was I who was unable to control the bitter jealousy that coursed through every nerve in my body, allowing me to strike the girl who dared to try and take Chris from me. Only after Chris leapt from my side into death's sure grip did I regret my actions, but by then it was too late.

I planted my hands securely against the wall behind me as the room bucked and twisted against itself, the once solid wood and tile rippling with fluidic grace. From around the suspended bodies came ghostly images of a world displaced by time. Trees rooted and grew, extending their branches across a translucent blue sky. A cluster of birds squawked and flew away, through a wall they neither saw nor felt, and out of sight. The wind grew crisp and fresh like a summer breeze, carrying with it a murmuring of voices that bore no distinct words or phrases.

Abruptly, it was gone. The gaping blue maw snapped shut, swallowing the countryside images and motionless boy and girl into an eerie oblivion. The room became as it was before, noiseless and hollow. I remained in the corner, hastily gathering what little composure I had left. Chris and Nadia were gone, mostly likely dead, torn from reality before my eyes. I would never see Chris again, and it was my stupid fault. I broke down and cried.

A sudden knocking at the door sent me stumbling to my feet, wiping my eyes as my father stepped through the door. Concern was evident on his face. "Is everything all right in here? The others said there were some awfully loud noises... what happened? This place is a disaster!" He circled from dismayed to displeased and back again, scrutinizing the remains of my equipment in pieces strewn about the room.

"Oh.. hehe.. I, uhh, just got carried away with a little experiment. Don't worry, I'll clean it up." A contented sigh of relief left my father's lips, and he paused briefly to let the emotions of the moment wash past.

"At least you are unharmed... And you will be paying for what you damaged from your allowance." He received my wide eyes with a look of fierce determination, and I knew I couldn't get out of this one. "I'm surprised with you, Lisa. You know you must learn to accept the consequences of your actions. I'll be back to take you home for dinner. Your mother is getting very adept at cooking with the new kitchen we designed for her, and wants us to try her lo mien tonight."

"Yes, father," I muttered as he turned to leave.

"Oh, I nearly forgot." My father peeped his bespectacled forehead back around the door. "Mr. Van Drake is looking for his daughter, and Tara said she and your friend Chris came in here recently. Do you know where they are?"

"No, they ran out of here a few minutes ago," I lied, attempting to wear the most genuine expression I could muster, and it seemed to work. My father shook his head and closed the door behind him, abandoning me to my own thoughts.

His words lingered in my mind as I stared at the empty, scorched space where the vortex swirled moments earlier. I pictured Chris and Nadia, immobile, thrust into the unknown by my hands. There was a good chance they were dead, but I couldn't accept it. Too many possibilities emerged in my head, the most prevalent that I had inadvertently sent them through a wormhole, either spatial or dimensional. It was the most reasonable rationalization for the peculiar visions, a glimpse of the other side. I knew it would be a matter of time before their disappearance would be traced back to my lab. I had to find a way to get them back.

I set about cleaning the debris, wincing as I placed each damaged or destroyed piece of equipment into a designated junk pile in a corner. No immediate fix was available for the cracks in the walls and ceiling, or most of the devices borrowed from Nevis. My allowance wouldn't reach my hands for a long time. At least the lab was slowly but surely returning to a cleaner state. I swept the floors, removed some office supplies embedded in the walls, and was busy picking up a disembodied leaf of printer paper when I discerned what appeared to be a small piece of glass with silver lining, smoothly cut into a rectangular prism with one end broken off - a piece of Nadia's cross. I was ecstatic, torn from stunned silence to revelation at the fortunate discovery, my mind linking the necklace to the spatial disturbance. Her pendant had to have something to do with it, I thought to myself. I held the warm object in my hand, inspected it, and glanced at the collection of machine parts amassed in the corner. There was much work to be done.

Many, many hours later, I triumphantly held up the fruits of my labor for a final inspection. The Gate Key, as I coined it, resembled an oversized walky-talky with the cross piece drilled into its center. Its remarkably innovative construction included five extendable antennas to reproduce the radio interference of the Hutchison Effect, a miniature Tesla coil for the electromagnetic stress field, and a one-twenty volt laptop battery with enough power to last a few trips. Without a test run, I relied strictly on confidence in my technical expertise and gut feelings of success to appease the egging doubts that tormented me for the remainder of the evening.

XXXXX

During the drive home, my father caught wind of my obviously gloomy temperament, making frequent attempts to rouse my spirits. I'm lucky to have had such a close, enduring relationship with him, and he always found a way to bring me back from the lowest of states. "You know, Lisa," he said, "you remind me of myself when I was about your age. Have I ever told you that?" I repressed an unexpected smile.

"Only about ten to the sixth times." We both snickered at my corny reference to a million. Lame science humor was a hilarious pastime in my household, and was a welcome reprieve to any tense situation.

"It's true. I would spend countless nights pining over every little thing that went wrong. A self-inflicted perfectionist, I wouldn't accept anything less." I didn't respond, the proper words lost in a mind muddled with 'what ifs'. Pressing my head against the passenger side window, I succumbed to the monotony of highway noises and the brilliant strobing of streetlights that raced by. My father cleared his throat. "If it is bothering you that much, I could tell Nevis that I misplaced the equipment I lent to you. They wouldn't refute-"

"Oh, the experiment isn't the problem," I interrupted. "It actually went well... a little too well. But you were right, I need to take responsibility for my actions and accept the consequences. It's just..." My father looked at me with a quizzical expression, and I relented. "I got into a fight with Mr. Van Drake's daughter - Nadia. I was jealous that Chris was paying more attention to her, but in my defense, she was pretty spoiled and said some very hurtful things. I think... that I might have caused something terrible."

"And the truth is revealed..." My father spoke in a soothing tone, empathizing with my plight. "Mr. Van Drake never found his daughter, and left Nevis in a storm of curses. From what I've heard, that girl has a wild streak, and you would do well to advise Chris to be on guard. You should give him a call when we get home." I sunk into my chair.

"About that... I don't think, well, that Chris or Nadia are going to be around any time soon." I could feel the intense gaze from my father aimed at the back of my head.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, I think I caused them to... go away." This was going to be difficult.

"They ran away together?"

"Not exactly, but close enough."

I wasn't sure what my father's reaction would be, but he must have followed my train of thought from all the talk about responsibility. He took a hand off the steering wheel and tenderly rubbed my shoulder. "You want to go find them yourself, don't you?" My mouth dropped open, and he smirked. "You are an open book, Lisa. I know you like to solve problems yourself, and this is a life experience too valuable to pass up. We have only one real dilemma remaining."

"Which is?"

"What I'm going to tell your mother." The car pitched back and forth as I leaped across the seat and entangled my father in a massive hug.

XXXXX

I returned to Nevis as soon as I could the following day, my father giving me a lift. Mrs. O'Kelly had called early that morning, inquiring as to Chris' whereabouts. He never came home that night. Her voice shook with a mother's worst fear as she spoke, and I lied that I didn't know where he was.

Dressed head to toe in army surplus cammo, I put on my backpack containing necessary survival gear: flashlight, food, spare clothes, compass, rope, et cetera. And the nine millimeter and extra rounds my father kept locked up under his bed. I didn't think I would really need it, but it was important to be prepared. Heading back into my lab, I anxiously strode into the center of the room. All was still, like the calm before the storm. Taking a deep breath, I crossed my fingers and activated the Gate Key. As expected, the bluish vortex materialized around me, though with less dramatic flair as the first time. Within seconds, the faded images of trees, hills, and blue sky solidified around me, and closing my eyes, I was thrown into another world.

* * *

Lisa's eyes lost focus. I could only imagine what it was like at that exact moment, to feel the exhilaration of plunging into the unknown. All the exciting times in my life instantly paled in comparison. Even more impressive, I found myself starting to believe the wild story. When she didn't continue, I practically begged for more. "And then?"

She winked at me and smiled. "And then, the real adventure began."


	4. The Lady DeLancey Has Gone Mad

Chapter 4: The Lady DeLancey Has Gone Mad

* * *

I was in the gate. And let me tell you, the sensations are indescribable. I remember movement, being dragged around like a rag doll. No pressure. No air. No heartbeat. No sound. Only a cacophony of gravimetric forces that threatened to shred me to pieces. And then, tranquility.

I opened my eyes, frantically forcing air into my reawakened lungs. Clumps of dirt and pebbles kicked up by the gate rained down around me, adorned with golden halos cast from a brilliant sun in an unblemished sky. My surroundings were familiar, the same trees and hills that I had seen through the gate at Nevis. Unframed, the once dreamy images had become a picture of beauty. I was near a dirt road that meandered through sprawling meadows and forests extending as far as the eye could see. Tree covered hills towered over a mighty river, and cottages dotted the horizons, with fields upon fields refined into tilled farmland. The wind was warm and swift, and the air sweet and full. I had passed through a portal to heaven. Even the birds welcomed my arrival with joyous song.

As I surveyed the landscape, burning it into my mind so I could find my way home again, I spotted two small heads duck behind a bush. "Hello?" I called out, grabbing the straps to my backpack and heading in their direction. "I'm looking for some friends of mine! Can you help me... what?" Peering around the bush, I saw two African boys huddled in fear on the ground. They were fairly dirty, wearing nothing but a loose white linen shirt and breeches rolled up to their knees. A deep sense of pity outweighed my bewilderment, and I reached out toward them.

"Eep! Dun eat me!" the taller one cried, kicking backwards along the ground. At least they knew English, albeit more rustic sounding.

"Hey, calm down. I'm not going to eat anybody." I laughed lightly, but the two were having none of it.

"We saw yer magick, Injun. We know ya' eat chiljun."

They had seen the gate. I crouched down to their level, and spoke as soothingly as possible. "It wasn't magic, it was... err... science." I hoped they bought it.

"S-s-sigh-ents?" Apparently, this was a secluded society. Or merely under-educated.

"Yes, science. Like this." I removed my backpack, rummaged through the contents, and pulled out a small Maglite. With a gasp of delight, the children moved in for closer inspection as I twisted the flashlight on. "See. It's called a flashlight. It can't hurt you." I waved it around a bit, the beam of light weak in the daytime sun but still evident. The shorter boy touched the plastic frame.

"Can I 'old it?" he asked.

"Sure!" I handed it to him. Before long, the two were shining it into each other's eyes and laughing. "So, I'm a little lost. Can you tell me where I am?"

"Da Dutch'r farm. Near Filps Brow man'r," the taller one said.

"Dutcher farm?"

"Yes'm, Willim Dutch'r's our mast'r. He dun take kindly ta Injuns though."

"Oh my God..." I blurted out, as a disturbing thought settled in my mind. They were slaves. And by Injun, they thought I was a Native American. I became very afraid of the obvious, but I had to make sure. "What year is it?"

The two looked at me as if I was crazy, and the shorter one answered, "Da year of our Lowrd, seventeen hundr'd n' seventy five."

I was dumbfounded. I didn't know how, but somehow, I had managed to travel through time. Meaning Chris and Nadia had too, and were running around somewhere in Revolutionary War history. Aside from the physical dangers, my immediate concerns shifted to the dangerous consequences of time travel. I had read enough Einstein and Hawkins to know the theories behind time travel and the paradoxes therein. Though many theories surfaced as to how history could protect itself against changes in time, they were more for recreation as time travel was strictly reserved for writers of science fiction. While swooning with wonder at my feat, I was not looking to test the theories, only to find Nadia and Chris and return to the present without upsetting the timeline. Even talking to the slave children was potential for disaster. I needed to act fast, and minimize contact.

I went to take the flashlight back, but the two pulled away. "I need that back now."

"But we wan ta play. We ne'er get ta." The tall one stopped flicking the flashlight on and off, and the other's eyes grew wide and misty. At that moment, I wanted more than the world to give them everything I had and more. They looked malnourished, were probably beaten routinely, and in no way deserved the life they were forced to lead. But my logic held firm. It was too risky.

I held out my hand, palm open. "I know, but play time is over. I have to look for my friends, and need it back."

"Ya gon ta use magick on us?"

"I told you before, I don't have any magic."

The shorter one whispered in the other's ear, and their cherubic faces became conspicuously impish. Then without warning, I received two handfuls of dirt straight to the face. By the time I wiped off my lenses, they were on their feet and several paces away.

They took off, sprinting barefoot with such incredible grace and speed that only a life spent outdoors could teach. Slinging my bag over my back, I chased after them in a clumsy pursuit. "Hey! Get back here! Or I'll use my magic!" As I reached the road, my boot caught itself on a rock, twisted, and sent me sprawling to the ground. Coughing in the ensuing cloud of dust, I looked up after the little thieves, but saw only a dizzy blur of shapes, light, and colors. I had lost my glasses. Things weren't turning out well at all.

"Oh, hell," I whined, ascending to my knees and running my hands along the road's rough surface in search of my glasses. I was practically blind without them. My fingers finally felt the cool surface of the metal frames, and I heaved a sigh of relief as I placed them in their rightful spot. That's when I saw it. Right below my face, lying in the road, was a bright red bead of some sort, perfectly smooth, and oddly familiar. I picked it up to get a closer look, and noticed a little white squiggle on the side. "Could it be?" After rubbing it vigorously to clean the dirt off, I popped it into my mouth and savored the sugary sweetness that I knew so well.

It was a Skittle. I looked down the road, and a rainbow-colored trail instantly came into view. I could barely contain my mirth, laughing to myself as I rose to my feet. Nadia was definitely eating them in my lab, the memory of her obnoxious chewing replaying in my head. The girl proved herself to be smarter than she looked. Not wanting to waste anymore time, I let the two children disappear over a hilltop and started my journey south.

XXXXX

Within the hour, Nadia's bag of Skittles was clearly showing signs of waning supply. Every five minutes or so I'd spy a little glint of artificial color beneath the verdant canopy of trees and be relieved to know I was still on the right path.

The hike wasn't as tiresome as I had expected either. Most of the way I was distracted by my thoughts or the spectacular scenery. The countryside was predominantly forests, with the occasional farm or outpost. After a few miles, the road curved toward the river, running nearly along its bank. I came to the conclusion it was the Hudson, as even a couple of centuries didn't change much - except for the color. It was so blue and flat-out clean looking, I almost shuddered to think of returning to my own time and spoiling the impossible thought. The most awesome aspect of the river was the huge wooden ships that would occasionally sail by, their great white sails swaying overhead in the breeze. Men in various uniforms would shout commands at each other and run along the ships' decks, pulling the sails this way and that to catch the best wind.

Something I did discover early on was how much I stood out. Even after removing my helmet and stuffing it into my backpack, my contemporary haircut, green and brown fatigues, and combat boots elicited stares of all sorts from travelers on the road. Fortunately, they all seemed to make the same mistake the other children did and assume I was of Native American descent. I quietly thanked my parents for my Asian-American heritage with each person that passed. One slightly intoxicated man on horseback even asked what tribe I was from as he'd never seen my kind of "savage wear" before, and offered to satisfy my "obvious interest" in the white man. I promptly gave the pervert my "tribal sign", the one-finger salute, and bid him farewell. From then on I carried my father's handgun in its holster on my belt.

I took a short rest around the mid-afternoon, eating a sandwich and drinking some water I made sure to pack. The trail of Skittles had petered away to nothing, and I could only hope I'd find another clue along the way. At least I was pointed in the right direction.

By early evening, the unending wilderness gave way to clusters of homes and bustling townsfolk and slaves. Another smaller tributary emptied out into the Hudson, and a wooden bridge allowed passage. Where the two rivers met, a palatial mansion stood, which I immediately recognized. Phillipse Manor Hall, a museum in our time. I was in what would become Yonkers. Ecstatic, I headed into the heart of town, yearning for a brief respite.

The daylight was rapidly growing scarce, and only a few people were left wandering about. Some men in red uniforms began shouting in my direction. British soldiers. I pretended not to hear them and dipped into a nearby building. It was low, two-storied, and had a wrap-around porch that tethered several horses. The signpost in front read the Indian Queen Inn. If anything, it was a place to sit down for awhile. I pushed my way inside.

All eyes turned and focused on me.

I was in the tap room for a colonial tavern, where a room full of men, young and old, sat with their crooked wigs, rolled up sleeves, cigars and pints of ale. Some sat at the bar that ran along the far wall, while others sat at tables and chairs scattered around the room and in the adjacent dining room. Plates of food scraps were stacked up all over the place, and several large dogs fought over bones beneath a staircase. But out of everything, I remember the stench the most. It was readily apparent this was a society that rarely bathed, deodorant an invention of the distant future. Combined with the pungent aromas of home-brewed beer, heavy clouds of unrefined tobacco, and an extreme need for mildew remover, the place downright stunk.

A very round man wearing too much powder and a nervous smile broke the awkward silence. "Well bless my soul. A 'lil Indian Queen, befittin' the name of this 'ere tavern. What be your name, child?"

"Lisa," I said, trying to avoid the room full of gazes. "I'm looking for some friends of mine."

The man was a little put off by my unheard of accent and surprising eloquence, but only showed his toothless smile. "Be they your 'lil Indian chums?"

I rolled my eyes and gave him descriptions for Chris and Nadia as best as I could, but the man said he'd seen no such people. The other patrons, growing quickly bored with the bland spectacle, resumed their previously boisterous conversations. "You are most welcome to our hospitality, Lisa," the man continued, and bent over to whisper in my ear. "But a word of warnin' to you, many 'ere 're not fond of Indians, losin' their families to raids in the last war. Be on guard." Thanking the man, I made a hasty retreat to a secluded table to rest and think.

Grateful to be off my feet, I consumed the rest of my rations while reviewing my situation. I had no more food, no money negotiable in the time period, and no idea where to find Chris and Nadia. I doubted that any of the other patrons would know if the innkeeper didn't. I felt very alone, and more so very vulnerable. Many of the guests kept peering over their shoulders in my direction, and all I wanted to do was hide away from sight. A cloaked woman with long, raven black hair, who looked vaguely like my father's assistant Tara, scoffed at me and left, throwing a few coins at a busty bar maid as she went. I slumped into my chair and closed my eyes, picking up bits of conversation that drifted from the four young, well-dressed men seated at the table next to me.

"... hesitate only for the health of my benefactor. He remains staunchly loyal to the Crown, and I have delayed far too long in my studies as it is. War would see your grants dwindled as well..."

"The rights of man must hesitate for naught. Those willing to forsake our liberties for financial security shall find their security soon stripped. Without liberties, we are as slaves."

"Aye, 'tis not 'ard to work for yer livin' neither. Idle 'ands'll bring the devil in'ya, like the D'Lancey lass. Ye best be watchin' yerself, Ben."

"Those rumors are the work of the Tories, Hercules. You should not speak ill of Miss Lina."

"'Tis the talk o' the town. Many 'ave 'eard 'er claim she comes from another world. 'F that ain't the devil's work..."

"The devil would dare not touch such a vision of Heaven."

"Defending the Lady's honour, Adrian? Fancy you her still, then?"

"No more than any honest man would. Alas, no man save family or physician has beheld her beauty since her return."

"They say she was discovered as far north as Captain Dutcher's estate."

With that, I leapt out of my chair and over to their table. I had wanted to avoid contact with the people of this time period as much as possible, but I knew I needed help if I was to ever find Chris and Nadia again. The men ceased their conversation, surprised by the sudden affront. "Excuse me, I don't mean to interrupt, but I'm looking for some friends of mine. The girl you were talking about, she's about this tall," I said, holding a hand above my head, "has long blonde hair, blue eyes, and a glass cross around her neck?"

"Why yes, how is it you know of Miss Lina? You would have naught to do with that hideous guardian of hers, would you savage?" The speaker was a tall blond, who glared at me with alarming scrutiny. The shorter blond next to him put a hand on his arm, in symbolized restraint.

"Peace, Adrian," he said, looking intently into my eyes. Or rather at them. "The blood of the Indians flows not through her veins. She is of the Orient." Aghast, we all turned to the young man, who met my wide-eyed expression with a smile. He bowed his head, stood up, and extended his hand toward me. "Forgive me. Where are my manners? I am Alexander Hamilton. A pleasure."

I was so thrown off by the first act of genuine courtesy since I arrived, that it took a moment for the name to register in my head. He was _the_ Alexander Hamilton, if only the younger version of the forefather we studied the previous year in American History. I extended my own hand to shake his, to which he instead carefully lifted to his mouth and left a delicate kiss upon its back. A raging heat swelled up from within me and spread about my cheeks and ears. I was rendered speechless.

Alexander, aware of my predicament, looked disdainfully at the others at the table. They immediately jumped to their feet and did the same, while he introduced each one. "The portly Irishman to my right is Hercules Mulligan, finest tailor in all of New York."

"Aye, charm'd ta make yer acquaintence, lassy," he said, placing a particularly wet kiss on my hand.

"And on his right is Benjamin Doe, one of the brightest men I know, and recent addition to our militia." Benjamin repeated the previous gestures and smiled brightly. "And allow me to introduce Adrian Van Drake, musket artisan and marksman extraordinaire, though a little rough around the edges every now and then."

Adrian hesitated before making his greeting, not once looking me in the eye. Alexander continued, "Come, and partake in our company. We delight in news from afar, and perhaps we can be of some assistance to you..." The end of his sentence trailed off, and I responded once I saw him looking at me.

"Oh, uhh, Lisa. Lisa Chang, pleased to meet you." I grabbed a chair from my table and pulled it over. Dropping my bag under the other, I plopped heavily into my chair, leaning onto the table as if I had just arrived at the cafeteria lunch table with Chris after a long day of classes. The four looked at me, the brown-haired one, Benjamin, arching an eyebrow. They had found their seats again and were sitting upright with a posture deemed worthy of colonial American gentlemen, hands folded on the table. Realizing my feaux pas, I slowly sat up straight, and as gracefully as possible folded one leg over the other. The position felt awkward and forced, and the men continued to stare, Adrian wearing the world's largest frown. I knew I looked ridiculous.

"Alexander, how know you Miss Lisa here hails not from one of the Nations? Surely not from her... unique dress."

He shook his head. "Nay. Many years ago, on my home isle of Nevis, there was a shortage in that season's shipment of Negroes for the cane. Several slavers avoided losses by commanding ships to the Orient - pillaging the spice lands and returning with under-bellies full of the so-called Chinamen."

"Nevis?" I muttered, yet loudly enough so that Alexander heard me.

"Yes, an island in the Caribbean and my birthplace. Heard you of it?" he asked.

"No... well, yes.. I was just thinking of..."

"The D'Lancey lass, aye?" Hercules chimed in, and wasn't too far off. I nodded, while Adrian gave a disapproving cough into a handkerchief.

"I must see her," I said. Adrian nearly hacked up a lung.

"On what grounds? Not a soul may see her, not even myself!" he fumed.

"I think it is a marvelous idea," Benjamin said, smiling enthusiastically. The others turned sharply toward him. "Perhaps she was sent by Providence to rid Miss DeLancey of her madness. I hear the medicinal treatments from the East Indies are quite astounding." Adrian scoffed at him, though he ignored it and addressed me. "What say you? Why seek the Lady DeLancey? Hmmm?" A small glimmer appeared in Benjamin' eye, and I did my best to keep a straight face for Adrian as I played along.

"I believe that she is unwell, and can help her, if you'll let me." Adrian visibly weighed the alternatives in his mind, and huffed with a nod.

"Excellent. We shall leave at daybreak. Have you a room, Miss Lisa?" Benjamin asked.

"Err..." I shook my head.

"You may take mine, and I shall room with Hercules."

I could feel myself blushing again. "Thank you, very much. And please, call me Lisa." I was sure this would be the start of a good friendship.

XXXXX

"We are a few of the Hearts of Oak, a militia dedicated to the causes of freedom and provincial responsibility. War shall come to New York soon enough, and every available man must take up arms or flee," said Alexander, gallantly bringing his horse up besides ours. He, like the others, sported a dark navy coat and hat that read "Liberty or Death" across the front, advertising just how serious he was. In fact, the war was all I heard about all day, from the defeat of Gage's redcoats at Concord and Bunker Hill, to the Congress' failed Olive Branch Petition, to Governor Tryon's recent arrival in New York. Adrian was equally enthusiastic about the war as Alexander, if not more, though he was far less willing to discuss it with me. Benjamin seemed to be the only one not overcome with intense zeal.

I held on tightly to Benjamin as he steered the horse around a rut, taking us momentarily away from the group. Traveling by horseback proved to be quicker and far less strenuous than I first imagined. It was only mid-morning, and we had already crossed the King's Bridge and the small farming communities in Harlem, progressing up to Harlem Heights. Everything was amazingly unfamiliar, Manhattan showing its lush, youthful roots. Fortunately, the 'Hearts' were eager to point out our locations as we proceeded through, and I was able to make a mental picture of where I would have been in my time.

"Allow not their talk of war to upset you, Lisa." Benjamin spoke after moving us a significant distance from the others. "Most of New York remains undecided in the matter, preferring a peaceful remedy to the uprisings and a return to standard living."

"You sound like you feel the same way," I said.

"Not all republicans are radical. Even Alexander and Adrian fall within the moderate lines. I should not want you to meet those who do condone such acts of violence, like Isaac Sears or John Lamb. More likely than not, a rebel in league with one of them was responsible for the abduction of the Lady De Lancey."

"Why would they do that?" It had been some time since we spoke of Lina, and I wanted to learn all I could before I met her.

"Why, she is the youngest child of the great Oliver De Lancey, a well-respected and influential Tory. He commanded the city government until the Royal Governor Tryon arrived last month. I would expect a crime as base as kidnapping to be executed by the likes of the radicals, to further instigate the loyalists. There have been numerous acts of vandalism and public humiliation of the Tories since words of revolution reached us from Boston. But I digress." He paused as a small breeze whipped about us, and I wrapped my arms tighter around his waist. "Lisa, might I ask you a question?"

"Shoot," I replied, receiving a quizzical over-the-shoulder look from Benjamin. "I mean, go ahead."

"In truth, why seek you the Lady De Lancey? You are a most peculiar traveler. Delightful company, but peculiar nonetheless."

"Well... she fits the description of someone I know, who I need to find."

Benjamin rubbed his chin. "An instance of mistaken identity, perhaps?"

"I'm not sure, but I'll know as soon as I meet her." No sooner than I had responded to the question, the horse crested a hillock that overlooked all of Manhattan. The sight was breathtaking. Most of the island was farmland, with either fields of young cornstalks or orchards of trees in neat rows. Carts, horses, and people hurried along dirt roads that winded through the countryside all the way into the distance, where the buildings became taller and denser. In the center of the city, a cross-topped steeple towered over the surrounding buildings. Nearly a hundred wooden ships bobbed up and down in ports along both sides of the island, a veritable forest of spiked masts with folded sails. I stared in awe as the rest of the group caught up.

"'Tis a wee city, but grand in our 'earts. 'N 'tis what matt'rs." I nodded in agreement with Hercules.

Benjamin pointed out over the view. "Beverly, the DeLancey estate, lies a distance from Trinity Church, delineated by yonder steeple."

"Ye volunteer yer services at Trinity, dinna?" Benjamin blushed at the question and turned from me.

"Yes, I assist the Reverend with his books. Tory or not, he stands a devout man of God. Though the church has been bedeviled by a strange apparition as of late, so I would recommend not venturing its grounds alone."

"Afraid of ghosts, are we Benjamin?" Adrian asked. Benjamin ignored him, and instead spoke to me.

"Promise me you shall not risk yourself to enter. Many have heard the pitiful screams of a woman scorned in life now departed by God's will." I smiled to myself, not believing in any such nonsense like ghosts, but relented for Benjamin' sake.

"Sure, I promise. I have no reason to, anyway."

"Very well, let us be off." Benjamin kicked the horse into a trot, and we resumed our journey south.

XXXXX

The group split up once we reached the outskirts of the city by noon, Adrian choosing to come to Beverly with us in a vain attempt to see Lina.

Benjamin led the horse through the streets with great ease. He sat tall, occasionally waving at and greeting the local residents he knew. People waved back from their porches, the store-front stoops, the balconies of taverns, and the horse-drawn carts. He even smiled and nodded at the British soldiers that marched by. I knew what he was doing; he was trying to distract the citizens from me. Everybody had their eyes fixed on me, still in my modern cammo-style cargoes and t-shirt. People whispered into each other's ears, and others pointed. I was sure that before long, everyone would know about the strange Indian girl that rode into the city. My attempt to conduct a low-profile search for Chris and Nadia was proving more and more disastrous, and I cursed myself for not spending more time on acquiring some period clothes.

Eventually we passed by Trinity Church, which looked nothing like the Gothic-style Trinity from my day. The architecture was instead very simple and refined, mimicking the unadorned colonial style that seemed to be popular. Entirely composed of wood, the building was nevertheless very large, the steeple mirroring the heights of many modern day buildings. Benjamin gave me a nervous look as we rode by, and I returned a reassuring smile.

Finally, my journey neared its conclusion. A large piece of land was devoted to Beverly, complete with an enormous mansion, private stables, well-tended gardens, and an iron gate that surrounded the property. An arch granted us access to the estate, and we proceeded up the dirt road to the grand double-doors that marked the entrance. A slave boy emerged from the stables and ran at us as we approached, turning and running barefoot alongside the horses.

"Lowrd D'Lancey 's not expect'n visitors t'day. He meet'n wit' da Ass'mbly."

"I have come to call upon Miss Lina. I bring friends," Benjamin said as he dismounted and helped me down. Both of my companions gave the reigns to the boy, who led the horses into the stable. We approached the doors, and Adrian rapped loudly with the over-sized knocker. After a few moments, a plump servant woman opened the door just a crack. The two removed their hats.

"Good afternoon, Bot."

"Master Doe. Master Van Drake." Opening the door wider, Bot acknowledged each of them, apparently having been previously acquainted. "And who might the darling young girl be?"

"I wish to present Miss Lisa Chang, of the Orient." Benjamin introduced me, and Bot's eyes sparkled. She was very eloquent in her speech, unlike the other slaves I'd met so far. She also wasn't put off by my appearance, like everybody else. I already liked her a lot.

"Truly? How remarkable! Enchanted to hold your company." Bot curtseyed with her apron, and I played my part by pressing my hands together and bowing like I suspected a Chinaman would. She tittered in delight. "Where find you this one, Benjamin?"

"She is well-versed in the foreign arts of healing, which I believe might rid Miss Lina of her ailment."

Bot's joyous expression fell, and she shook her head. "All treatments must be approved by Lord Oliver. I doubt he would approve."

The rumbling of a man's voice echoed through the foyer, and two pairs of boots descended a great staircase. "Bot, who calls?" Bot, startled, turned and curtseyed before the two men. Both were well-dressed and enveloped in an air of arrogance, with disapproving frowns pasted on their lips.

"Masters Doe and Van Drake bring their sympathies for your sister and a girl from the Orient knowledged in medicine." Bot stepped aside as the two approached us without a formal introduction, the older staring me down.

"What a beastly little thing," he said, turning his attention to Benjamin. "We require no such services, Master Doe. New York's finest physicians have put her on the leeches, and we expect the demons will leave her by the harvest."

"Leeches?" I screamed. I had forgotten about the archaic medical practices, and could only imagine what the girl was going through. The very idea made me sick to my stomach, more from guilt than mental imagery. The man seemed offended by my outburst.

"Silence, chigger, and learn to speak only when spoken to." That was it for me. I could feel the heat rising inside me as I clenched my fists.

"I'll speak when I damn well please!" If the ensuing gasps from those gathered at the doorway were any indication of the position I had just put myself in, I was in serious trouble. Bot covered her eyes and stumbled backwards, the two men stared in complete shock, Adrian smirked, and Benjamin grew visibly nervous. The older man raised his hand above his head ready to swing. Fortunately for me, a feeble voice interrupted the blow.

"James? Who's there?" Before the man could respond, a stunning young girl descended the staircase, lifting the train of her dress so not to trip. Golden locks curled and fell to her shoulders, where a white floral-printed corset, petticoat, and dress draped lavishly about her delicate frame. The only imperfection was a rather nasty black and blue mark that surrounded her left eye - the one I had given her. It was Nadia.

"Miss Lina..." Adrian looked on, awestruck, moving to step inside. The older man, who I assumed was James, held out his arm to stop him.

"Return to your room, sister. You are unwell," he said. Nadia looked on in a daze, ignoring Adrian who desperately wanted her attention. As soon as she saw me, her somber expression grew immediately into an ecstatic smile.

"Lisa!" she cried, running weakly down the stairs. Her foot caught on the excess fabric and she stumbled forward. The younger man, seeing the predicament, rushed to her side and caught her.

"Nadia!" I bolted in through the door, but James grabbed me by the arms and held me firm. I struggled in his grip, screaming and reaching for the pistol on my belt. Nadia was also struggling against her captor, vainly attempting to break free, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"The devil has her again! Take her upstairs, Oliver!" James shouted instructions at the other, who tried as best he could to lift Nadia off the floor.

"Lisa, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" she shouted. She clung tightly to the banister rail, holding on for dear life.

"Me too! I'll get you out, I promise." James managed to shove me out the door, into Benjamin' waiting arms. Yet as he went to close it, Benjamin abruptly stuck his foot in, halting its progress before we were entirely shut out. His eyes were fierce with indominability.

"Considered you the notion that the girl might be right in her claims? Surely these two know each other, and it is possible that two people bear such similar resemblances."

"And possess the same jewel around their necks, Master Doe? You are an educated man. I suggest you start using it." Benjamin looked in at Nadia, seeing her crumpled on the floor in a terrible state, and sighing, slowly retracted his boot. James smiled, and turned to Bot. "Fetch the savage and have these rebels removed from Beverly. They are not to set foot on these grounds again, or I shall put them in the stocks myself."

Benjamin shook his head. "There is no need, we know the way. A pleasant afternoon." Replacing his hat, he grabbed my arm and began pulling me and a resistant Adrian toward the stables.

Nadia looked up, and shouted after me as the door closed. "Find Chris! They said he's in New Gaol. They're going to-" The door slammed shut, cutting off the remainder of Nadia's ominous prediction. Whatever it was, it appeared that I had my work cut out for me. Little did I know how much danger Chris was in, but I was determined to find him at whatever the cost.


End file.
